Shall We Dance?
by EastAnglia
Summary: I love weddings, don't you? GALEX angstfluff.
1. Hen Night, Stag Night

She was still sipping at her tepid glass of white wine by the time each of Shaz's friends had finished off three of those blue,

_A/N: Thanks to all of you who have read and reviewed and for all your lovely comments. I feel happy to join this fandom!_

_I've written in several fandoms, and my fics tend to be very angsty. I'm not sure how successful I've been so far, but I did want to try something a little bit lighter. I hope you enjoy it._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She was still sipping at her tepid glass of white wine by the time each of Shaz's friends had finished off three of those blue, tropical girl drinks a piece. They were at some wine bar, one of those chains that would begin popping up all over the capital in the next decade or so. All glass and chrome. Shaz's friends were shrieking on the dance floor to the sound of Adam & the Ants and Human League while Alex, who had a good ten years on most of these girls, sat by herself at the bar, taking it in with a wry smile.

Finally, Shaz tipsily crossed the floor to where Alex was sitting with her glass of wine.

"Having fun, ma'am?"

"Absolutely," Alex lied.

"I'm glad you could come. Really." Shaz said with sincerity.

"Well, I'm glad you asked." She almost hadn't come tonight. She hadn't wanted much company these last few months since the explosion, so she had forced herself out of her flat. Despite the noise, the ridiculous t-shirt she had been forced to wear, and the questionable company, she _was_ glad in a way. She felt somehow more affectionate, more protective of Shaz than the others. Perhaps because they were both women in a testosterone-charged environment. But it was something else. Gene, Ray, Chris…they were all constructs she had borrowed from Sam. Shaz was _hers_, and she felt like the younger sister Alex never had.

"Of course I asked! I'm getting married tomorrow, and I wouldn't be here without you." She let out a sweet, tinkling little laugh. "You saved my life, ma'am!"

"Please, Shaz. We're the only women in CID right now. Let's show some solidarity. For tonight, call me Alex, will you?" Shaz wrinkled her nose slightly, and Alex gave a little sigh. "Well, it was worth a try. _Ma'am_ it is, then."

Alex sipped at her wine as Shaz perched herself on the barstool next to her.

"Ma'am…you were married before, weren't you?"

"The operative word here is _were_." Alex said with a snort, but as she glanced over to Shaz, the younger girl was looking back with large, dark eyes. "Are you all right, Shaz?"

Shaz licked at her lips nervously before continuing. "What if…what if things don't work out with me and Chris? I don't want a divorce…"

"No one _wants_ a divorce, Shaz…"

"What I mean is…I don't _believe _in it, ma'am. I'm Catholic."

Alex's eyes fell down to Shaz's neck and the little gold crucifix she always wore. She remembered it well, the glint of it against Shaz's blood-soaked shirt on the night she almost died. Alex reached out and placed a comforting hand on top of Shaz's.

"You didn't see Chris the night you were stabbed. He really loves you. And you love him, don't you?"

Shaz's eyes dropped down to the bar, and Alex watched as a pink blush crept up her cheeks. "Yes," she said quietly. "Ever so much."

Shaz was smiling, blinking back soft tears when she looked back up, and Alex felt a stab of something at the center of her. What was it? Regret? Envy?

She could feel the prick of tears in her own eyes. "You're going to very happy together. I know it."

_It's my trauma-induced hallucination, and I'll bloody well give them a happy ending if I want._

Shaz smiled gratefully, but after a moment, her mouth turned down at the corners, and her eyes darkened again.

"Ma'am…can I ask you something?" She started with an uneasy edge to her voice. "Only…I can't really talk to my mum. And my friends would just laugh."

"Of course, Shaz. You can ask me anything."

"Well, you've been married, and I've seen you…well, there was that fella at Luigi's with the red braces…"

"Oh, that…" Alex pressed a hand to her forehead with a groan. Somehow she got the feeling that her embarrassing tryst with the Thatcherite wanker had qualified her in Shaz's mind as a scarlet woman or some kind of bedroom agony aunt.

"It's just…Chris and me…we never…" Shaz's eyes flitted around the room, anywhere but on Alex. "It's like I said. I'm a good Catholic."

Alex blinked as the weight of it settled on her. It was hard to imagine that even in 1981, there were London girls like Shaz. It was sweet, really. "Oh, Shaz…"

"Mind you," she went on with a sly, cheeky smile, "we have a bit of a laugh, Chris and me, and I'm not completely thick. I'll know what to do on the night. But…Chris is a bit older, and I know he's been with other girls. What if I'm a disappointment to him?"

Alex couldn't help but smile a small, tender smile. As if sweet, bumbling Chris could ever be disappointed in someone as feisty and alive as Shaz. "You won't be a disappointment. How could you be?"

"But…what if…what if it's not what I imagined?"

Alex gave a wry smile. "First times seldom are." She chuckled mildly at the faded memory, but when she looked over at Shaz, she had lowered her eyes again with worry. "Shaz. Most first times are meant to be bittersweet experiences. Maybe you look back on them with nostalgia. But mostly it's meaningless and uncomfortable and you're scared and maybe a little drunk, and you're not entirely sure the other person remembers your name. Even the second and third and fiftieth time can be like that. Even when it's good. Really, _really_ good like with the man from Luigi's."

Alex rolled her eyes and took a breath before going on. "But when you love the other person? And you can see in their eyes that they love you?" She had to sniff a little to hold back the tears that had formed behind her eyes. "_That's_ when nothing else matters, and it's more wonderful and amazing than you can imagine."

Shaz looked up at her through her dark fringe of hair. "Really?"

"Really."

Shaz exhaled in relief. "Please don't tell anyone."

"Your secret's safe with me."

Alex reached out and gave her hand an affectionate squeeze.

"Oi! Shazzer!" one of her friends called out to her from the dance floor.

Shaz smiled and slid off the stool. She took a few steps away before she turned and impulsively threw her arms around Alex. "Thanks, ma'am. For everything."

Alex felt herself soften. "You're very welcome. Be happy. You deserve it."

She watched with a fond smile as Shaz joined her group of friends, her face flushed pink with sheer joy. She was so bright, so happy, about to begin a new life. Alex was happy for her, genuinely so, but there was still an ache at the center of her, and yes, it was perhaps a bit of envy she felt.

Shaz was in love, and she was loved back.

Alex quickly swatted away a bittersweet tear and drained the last of her glass.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They had never got around to hiring a stripper, and no one seemed interested in matching t-shirts, so in the end, they had merely stumbled over to Luigi's for Chris' stag night.

Chris had been made to do shots of something thickly sweet and disgusting whilst lying on his back on the bar, and he was now propping himself up on a stool, elbow on the bar, chin on the palm of his hand.

"I wonder what Shaz is doing right now," he slurred.

"Trying to flee the country, if she has any sense." Gene stubbed out the last of his cigarette and pulled another from the pack.

"Do you think so?"

"No, you twat. She's probably at some poxy wine bar with the other Sharons and Tracys. Drinking themselves legless and doing unspeakable things to complete strangers."

Chris attempted to straighten himself up but almost teetered backwards off the stool. "DI Drake's with 'em. She'll keep an eye on 'em, surely."

"It's DI Drake I'd be worried about," Ray snorted, forgetting for a moment that only DCI Gene Hunt was allowed to make comments about Drake's presumed level of depravity. Gene reminded him with a withering look. "Sorry, Guv."

They were all three feeling the effects of the copious amounts of liquor consumed that evening, and they sat silently nursing their lagers while most of the revelers had already straggled home.

"Guv?" Chris said finally.

"What is it, Chris?"

"I'm gonna be sick."

So, Gene sat with him while he chucked up the remnants of his stag night booze binge into the toilet. Afterwards, Gene passed him some wet paper towels to wipe his face clean, and the two collapsed on the floor in the men's toilet at Luigi's, their backs slumped against the cold tile walls.

"Bloody hell, Chris. I've known little girls who could hold their booze better than you."

"Guv?" Chris' voice was thick and drowsy.

"Don't tell me you're going to be sick again."

"Nah. I just wanted to say…I really love her. Shazzer."

Gene sneered. "Now _I'm_ going to be sick."

"No, really. I do, Guv. And I'm really glad we're getting married and all."

"Yeah, yeah." Gene waved his hand dismissively. "I'm sure she'll iron your shirts and scrub your pants and get your tea on the table on time and all that."

"No, it's not like that, Guv. Well, I mean, yeah…but the thing of it is…I love her, but I really _like_ her as well." He let out self-conscious little laugh. "It's like I'm marrying one of me mates!"

"Flamin' Nora. The south really has turned you into a poof, Christopher."

Gene squirmed uncomfortably on the floor. _Love. Marriage_. Not exactly two topics he wanted to discuss on the floor of the men's toilet with his shit-faced DC. He didn't want to discuss it _anywhere_ with anyone, for that matter. He wasn't sure he knew a damn thing about the first, and he'd buggered up the second miserably. He tried to pull himself back onto his feet to make his escape, but his right leg had gone to sleep, and he was too far from the sink to hoist himself up.

Chris sat there with that same lopsided, drunken grin, but then a thoughtful look came over his face.

"I always wanted to be like you, Guv."

"Son, everybody wants to be like me." Gene puffed out his chest.

"I always wanted to be like you," Chris repeated, ignoring him. "You're like a lone wolf, you are. You love 'em and leave 'em, eh, Guv?"

"Too right."

"Me? I can't do it. It's not in me." He gave Gene's arm a matey shove, something he wouldn't have dared do if he was anywhere approaching sober. "You? Some blokes, blokes like you, I reckon you're just meant to spend your lives by yourselves. Never needing anyone. All alone."

"Yeah." Gene's voice was rough when he finally spoke again. "I'm a lone wolf, me."

"Well, I'd best be off. Big day tomorrow," Chris said with sudden cheerfulness. He slapped Gene on the knee before he struggled to his feet and staggered out of the toilet. "Night, Guv."

Gene said nothing in reply, but sat for a long moment on the cold floor before pulling himself to his feet and heading out.


	2. Champagne and Pink Wafers

The thought of spending an hour in the car with Gene and Ray was more than she could handle, so she had gone by herself to Essex the next morning. Shaz wanted to get married at the church she had grown up in, but it was obvious that Shaz's parents had spared no expense for their only daughter.

The reception was to be held in one of those old Tudor houses that had been done up as a hotel. It was a lovely, romantic place, all dark wood, low ceilings and crackling fires. Alex had travelled out to the wedding hoping that she would get swept up in the romance of it all, but instead, getting dressed in her hotel room, she felt weepy and alone.

"Pull yourself together, Alex," she whispered to her reflection as she attempted to fasten her necklace. "This is a happy day, after all."

She'd had nothing suitable in her wardrobe, so she'd gone to buy something the week before. Everything she tried on made her look as if she'd wandered in from the set of _Dynasty,_ but she finally found a silky, sleeveless thing that was simple and flattering, even if it was in a colour that made her feel like a giant, walking pink wafer.

As happy as she was for Chris and Shaz, she wanted nothing more right now than to climb into that huge tester bed and pull the covers over her head. The dress and the maddening clasp on her necklace weren't helping matters any.

"Oh, sod it!" she muttered and nearly flung the damn thing across the room when she was stopped by a knock. She yanked the door open with irritation to see Gene leaning against the doorframe with one arm.

"Right, Drake, are you…" He looked up from the floor at her, and his jaw dropped slightly.

"What?"

"Bloody hell…" he managed to say in an exhaled breath as his eyes travelled up and down her.

"_What?_"

"Nothin'." He said huskily and swallowed hard before going on. "Raymondo and I were just going to the church, if you need. You ready yet?"

"Nearly. I was just…" She held up the necklace and crossed back to the mirror for another attempt at it.

It was a moment before Gene entered, one hesitant step, then another, and she caught his reflection over her shoulder. He stood watching her finish getting dressed, his hands in pockets, shifting on his feet awkwardly. He was wearing what looked to be a new suit, and he'd actually managed to button his collar and straighten his tie. He actually looked, it occurred to her, _handsome._

"Any day now, Bolly-knickers. We do want to get there before they cut the bloody cake."

"It's this damn…" She held up the necklace to him. "Can you?"

"Wha', _me?_"

"For your information, in a few years they'll discover the so-called 'gay gene,'…"

"Don't say 'gay' and 'Gene' in the same sentence."

"…and fastening ladies' necklaces when they're running late for a wedding will_ not_ turn you into a homosexual."

She extended her arm out to him, and he stared at it for a horrified moment before swearing under his breath and crossing and snatching the jewellery from her palm.

She turned back to the mirror and watched him as he lifted his arms and gently draped the chain around her neck. She felt a small shiver as his hands skimmed across her skin.

"You scrub up nicely, Mr. Hunt," she said softly.

"And you, Bolls…"

"Yes?"

"Didn't your mum ever tell you it was bad manners to outshine the bride on her wedding day?" It was low and throaty, almost a growl, and it took her breath for a moment. She caught a glimpse of him in the mirror, looking at her reflection there, his hands resting against her bare shoulders.

There was a brief moment, where they seemed frozen like that, and then he suddenly blinked and pulled his hands away as if he had been touching something hot.

"The car is…we should…" he stammered.

"Yes, of course, you're right, we should go," she said in a rush and grabbed her bag and wrap from the bed.

He silently followed her out, down the staircase and into the afternoon sun. Ray was waiting for them by the car, sucking on the end of a fag. He waggled his eyebrows when he saw her and opened his mouth to say something.

"Shut up, Ray," Gene snapped before dropping himself into the driver's seat.

"All right, Guv, all right."

Alex eased herself into the car, and they headed off to the church. Ray went on and on the whole way about how many birds he hoped to pull that weekend, oblivious to the moody silence that had settled over Alex and Gene.

XXXXXX

"Jesus, Ray, are you crying?"

"What? _No!_"

"You are. You're crying, you big Mary."

"I've got something in me eye, Guv, all right?"

A woman in the row ahead of them wearing an enormous hat shushed them.

It was a lovely wedding. Alex smiled as she turned and watched Shaz start down the aisle. She looked beautiful, a confection of tulle and lace, in her High Street copy of Lady Di's wedding dress from the summer before. Alex had fantasized for months as a little girl about getting married to some handsome prince in the same dress, and now her sub-conscious had given it to Shaz. It was only fitting, really.

Chris' voice shook nervously as he said his vows, and Alex found herself sniffing back bittersweet tears. Part of it was in happiness for the young couple, the way she always cried at weddings. But there was also an ache, wondering if she would ever return to see Molly down the aisle, or if, stuck in this nightmare, she would ever have someone look at her again the way Chris looked at Shaz.

They headed back the reception at the hotel, where there was music and cake and free-flowing champagne. Alex took it all in from a table in the corner as she sipped at her champagne. Shaz and Chris were wrapped up in their own private little world. It was sweet, the way they looked at each other, they way they held hands, and he brushed the hair from her eyes. Ray was like the fox in a hen house filled with Shaz's drunken single friends.

But it was Gene she watched from across the room. She had seen drink turn him moody and morose, but he was in his element that night. Alex watched as he let one of Chris' nieces stand on his feet, and he twirled her across the dance floor as she shrieked with laughter. She wasn't sure she'd ever seen Gene smile like that.

It wasn't until later in the evening that his mood seemed to shift. He sat with a scowl on the opposite side of the room from her and began to toss back the drinks. When someone called him forward and handed him the microphone for a toast, Alex cringed.

"Please, Gene," she whispered prayerfully, "don't bugger this up."

He paused for a moment, drink in one hand, before speaking. "I've known Chris nearly ten years now. He's a good lad. And our Shaz, she's a good girl. Some of us never…" he started with a strained voice then took another long pause and rubbed at his face wearily. Finally, he looked up again and raised his glass. "To the happy couple."

She meant all evening to cross to him, but she was always stopped by someone, forced out onto the dance floor against her will, or chatted up by some drunken relation. It was late in the evening, her feet aching and her head swimming, when she finally headed to where he was sitting in a corner by himself. He sat slunk low in the chair, knees wide apart. He watched her as she approached and offered him a hand.

"Will you dance with me, Mr. Hunt?"

"What do I look like? Bloody Pan's People?" he said with a snort.

"It's a wedding, Gene. People dance."

"I don't give a kipper's dick about the bloody wedding. I'm here for the free booze." By way of demonstration, he knocked back the remains of his glass.

She lowered herself into the chair next to him. "You're too young to be so cynical."

"Young?"

"You can't be any older than what…fifty?"

"_Fifty_? Who's fifty?!"

She raised an eyebrow and gave him a teasing smile, but he only scowled back. There was no point. He had already sunk too low into his black mood, so she rose with a sigh.

"Fine." She crossed to where Ray was having no luck with one of Shaz's friends, grabbed his arm and pulled him onto the dance floor. Ray grinned in surprise at his sudden good fortune and wasted no time wrapping his hands around her.

He was watching her, she knew, and she realised on some level that she was trying to make Gene Hunt jealous. He didn't rise, but sat sulking at his table. Finally, she got tired of trying to keep Ray's hands off her bum. She gave him an exasperated shove and headed outside.

A set of French doors opened out onto a stone terrace. From there, the green lawn stretched out and disappeared into the woods that surrounded the hotel. In the dark, she could just make out a gazebo at the edge of the lawn. She crossed across the grass and sat there on the bench inside. The faint sounds of the music drifted out to her from inside.

A few minutes later, she could see a dark form heading across the grass to her, and she knew it was Gene. He paused for a minute before stepping inside. He handed her a glass of champagne, and she muttered a thanks.

"What you doing out here? It's gone colder than a pimp's heart."

"It was hot in there. I couldn't breathe," she lied.

"Here." He slipped his suit jacket off and hung it over her shoulders. The musky mix with the scents of Old Spice and fag smoke hit her nose. It smelled like Gene.

He leaned against one of the gazebo posts, and they were silent for a moment.

"I think I envy them a little. Chris and Shaz."

"Envy? What for?"

She gave a wistful little shrug. "They're in love. They're happy."

"What do love and happiness have to do with each other?" He shifted uncomfortably. "You know what happiness is? A ruddy good shag, then you grab your pants and go home for a nice kip. _That's_ happiness. Love? Love makes you bloody miserable."

"You're not going to spoil my mood, Gene Hunt. Not tonight."

She sipped at her champagne and crossed to the other side of the gazebo and looked up at the sky. The sunsets were coming later and later now, but this far from the lights of town, they had already been plunged into darkness but for the sliver of moonlight.

"Do you think you'll ever get married again?" she asked.

"Is that a proposal or a request for information, DI Drake?"

"Let's assume the latter, shall we?"

He paused for a moment. "Me? No."

"Why not? You're still a young man…"

"No more than fifty, apparently."

"…and you've got your life ahead of you."

"So, you and _Mr. Drake_," he said quickly, and she knew he meant to change the subject. "How'd _that_ get bollixed up?"

She chewed on her lip thoughtfully for a moment before speaking. She had just got to the point where the mere mention of her ex-husband no longer made her angry. "I found out he wasn't perfect. Well, to be fair, I always knew he wasn't perfect. Far from it," she said wryly, "but I managed to convince myself otherwise."

"Your problem is, you've been associating with the wrong kind of men. Ponces and City wankers."

"So, what is the 'right kind'? A pig-headed Northern flatfoot?" she said teasingly.

"You could do worse, Bolls."

"_There's_ a ringing endorsement. Worse than you, Gene? I'd hardly think that possible."

She laughed and waited for him to come back with some typical reply, but there was none. She could just make out his features in the half-light, and there was a flicker of hurt in his eyes.

_Oh, God, he's serious._ She blinked and found she could not speak. He looked away in silence, and she wondered if he might turn and go with some mumbled excuse. She was aware that the music from inside the hotel had changed from electronic pop to some old standard.

"Oh, joy," he said with light sarcasm. "Finally some music not sung by a twat in eyeliner."

She stood, still not sure what to say.

"Dance with me, Gene."

She waited for him to protest, but after a beat, he slipped the jacket from her shoulders and folded it over the bench. She shivered from the cold, but then his right arm was around her waist and pulling her to him. He folded his other hand into hers, the way he had done at the explosion, and they began to sway.

It had been too long since she felt this way. She hadn't felt it with Danny Moore or the man from Luigi's or even with Evan. Especially not Evan. She felt warm and safe and desired. They stood like that, moving gently, her head on his shoulder. She looked up at him, his arms still on her, his face outlined by the moonlight.

She found her eyes closing, her head tilting back, and then there was a soft, tentative kiss on her mouth.

And then they were aware that the music had stopped. She pushed herself away from him, and they looked at each other with round eyes.

"Sorry, sorry," he muttered and jammed his hands in his pockets.

"People do the silliest things at weddings." She let out an artificial laugh.

"Yeah. Too much champagne," he said dismissively.

"Well…it's late…I should…" She poked her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the hotel.

"Right. Me, as well. I'll just…" He leaned past her and took his jacket from the bench. She started off across the grass, aware that he was a few steps behind her. They went back through the French doors, where everything was being packed away, and then up the staircase and down the dark corridor. His room was next to hers, and they both nervously fumbled with keys. She muttered a "good night," but she wasn't sure if she answered or even heard her. She had already pushed into her room and closed the door behind her, where she leaned against it with her hands on her face.

"Oh, God." She let out an audible moan. _I kissed Gene._ She repeated it silently to herself. _I kissed him._

She steadied herself against the door and took a deep breath. It really wasn't that bad. They'd stopped it before things went any further, and she'd done far more regrettable things under the influence of too much champagne.

But that was just it. Did she really regret it?

The awful thought sprang into her mind just as there was a knock on the door. It could only have been one person, but she opened it in spite of that. Or perhaps because of that.

He pushed past her into the center of the room and stood there for a moment, rubbing at the back of his neck, jangling some loose change in his pocket, as if he were trying to think of something to say, but then he crossed to her in two long strides and wrapped his arms around her again. He kissed her, and she kissed him back, not gently this time.

They said nothing; there was no need. They moved to the bed, leaving a trail of clothes behind them, and she ran her hands across his broad chest and shoulders as she pulled him down and underneath the soft covers. She shivered, but he pulled her close to him. Yes, she felt warm and safe, and for a time, there was no hurt or grief, and nothing needed to make sense.

He moved gently over her like water, then their movement together grew in intensity, rising to a heated crescendo before they both let out a little cry, and he fell back to the bed. They lay in a tangle, sweating and content.

She waited for the inevitable, for him to rise silently, throw on his clothes, and head to his room without a word, but he didn't. When his breathing slowed, he lifted his arm.

"Come 'ere."

She tucked herself against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart as he traced little circles on her back with a rough fingertip. She could see his reflection in the mirror across the room. His eyes were open, but he seemed lost in contented thought. When she finally drifted into sleep, the last thing she saw was him, wide awake, looking down at her.


	3. The Morning After

_A/N: I've had a lot of fun writing this story, but I'm not too sure how successful it's been. As much as I love the GALEX pairing, I don't know how realistic a relationship is. This story was my attempt to work around that a little bit. I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know what you think!_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She sat brushing her hair at the mirror and watching his reflection. She had expected him to be gone by the time she woke up in the morning, but he was still there, sound asleep and snoring lightly.

In the hard light of day, she wasn't sure what to think of what had happened between them the night before. There was no way this could work, could it? They were too different; there was too much counting against them. It had been a mistake. But if it was a mistake, why, when they both found themselves awake in the small hours of the night, had they silently made love again before drifting back to sleep? Why did she feel safe and content for the first time in months?

Behind her, he began to stir and pulled himself up to a seated position. He reflexively reached out for a pack of cigarettes on the bedside table and cursed under his breath when he didn't find them.

She swallowed hard. "Good morning," she said, as evenly as possible.

He ran his hands over his stubbled face and through his hair. His puffy eyes made him look like the middle-aged man he was. "Morning." His voice was thick and rough with sleep. He threw his legs over the edge of the bed and sat for a moment before reaching for his pants and his trousers and yanking them on. She watched over her shoulder as he shuffled across the carpet in bare feet and retrieved his scattered clothes from the floor.

"There's breakfast in the dining room until nine," she said with a feigned casual air and then groaned inwardly. It was a feeble thing to say. He ignored it and continued on his search for a missing sock. "Shouldn't we…talk?"

"Talk? What is there to bloody talk about? Why do women always want to talk?" he growled, his eyes still on the floor.

She tried to search for what to say, but all the words she could summon sounded inadequate. "About…us."

"There's no us, Drake!" he bellowed.

"We can't even discuss this?"

"No!"

"Why not?"

"Because I am your superior bloody officer!"

She hit the back of her chair with her open palm. "You stupid man! Is that what this is about? _Rank_?"

"Too bloody right, it's about _rank_. Mine and yours. That's what you posh birds like, eh? A bit of rough on the side?"

"Is that what you…?" she sputtered. "That's not fair."

"Then what? You think you're gonna put me in some red braces and take me to Royal Ascot for champagne and caviar with your mates from the Honours List? It won't happen."

"That's not what I want," she said shaking her head.

"_Then what the bloody hell do you want, Alex_?" The words erupted out of him with explosive force. "This wedding has turned you soft. You think I'm gonna carry you across threshold and we'll eat our beans on toast in front of the telly and watch _Coronation Street? _You'll iron my shirts while I'm down the pub? Is that what you want, Alex?"

He stood in front of her, with hard, angry eyes. She wanted to say something, something to smooth things over and make it all right, but when she opened her mouth, no words followed.

No. That's not what she wanted. That's not what she wanted at all.

She couldn't speak, but her silence was telling. There was a brief flicker of hurt in his eyes before he bent down and grabbed his tie from the floor, and then he was gone.

She sat there trying to take calming breaths before crossing to the shower, where she stood numbly under its stream for a long while. She dressed and packed quickly and then called for a taxi from her room. She didn't want to risk running into Gene, or anyone else for that matter. The cab was waiting by the time she made it downstairs, and she couldn't help but glance over to the hotel car park to see if Gene's car was still there. It wasn't.

It was all she could think about on the train ride back to London. It was true; they were too different for this to have worked, even if they had wanted it to. But somehow she had managed to push away the one person in this world she felt she could trust. She knew it would never work, but she hadn't thought the realisation of it would hurt quite so much.

She pressed her head against the window and watched the scenery speed past.

XXXXXXXXX

She was glad it was a Sunday, and she knew she wouldn't have to face Gene until the next day. That would come soon enough. For now, she was content to sit alone at Luigi's, empty but for Luigi himself, who stood behind the bar drying glasses and looking at the lovely _signora_ with concern.

She hadn't eaten anything since she'd left Essex, so the enormous plate of spag bol had seemed like a good idea when she'd ordered it. Now, she only sat picking at it with her fork and sipping ruefully at a glass of red wine. She was about to leave it there, half eaten, and head upstairs to her empty flat, when the little bell over the door jingled and the air pressure shifted, as it always seemed to do when Gene Hunt entered a room.

His face was dark, and he nodded gruffly at Luigi as he propped himself against the bar. She froze like a rabbit in headlights, watching him, waiting for him to notice her, and wondering if she could somehow slip past him and hide upstairs.

But it was too late, and as Luigi slid him a glass of lager, he turned his head towards her, and his face registered. She tried to read him, but Gene Hunt was giving nothing away. She gave him a weak smile, and he stood for a moment as if trying to make up his mind about something. Finally, he crossed to where she sat alone in a corner and took the seat across from her. They were silent for a moment while she fiddled nervously with her food.

"You look dreadful. Best thing for a hangover is fish and chips not pasta."

"For your information," she started wearily, "I'm not hungover because I wasn't drunk last night. Even if you'd prefer to think so." It came out with more bite than she had intended.

He took a mouthful of beer before speaking. "Bolls–"

"Look, don't say it, all right?" She threw up her hands. "Just don't start. _You_ were the one who asked _me_ to dinner that time, not the other way round. So don't flatter yourself imagining I've been chasing you like some lovesick schoolgirl. We were both there, and we both wanted it to happen. And it _wasn't_ just a shag."

"_Now_ who's flattering herself?"

"Oh, please, Gene. Your eyes? Your whole body language? The room wasn't _that_ dark, and you're more transparent than you think."

"You don't know the first bloody thing about me!"

"But that's just it! I do! You're not perfect. Quite a long way from it, but I see you for who you are, Gene. I see you for the boorish, insensitive, obstinate, arrogant, charming, clever, loyal, decent man you are."

He looked down at the table, and she waited for him to speak.

"It won't work."

"Probably not," she said with a teary smile. "And we'll probably kill each other within a week."

He sat for a minute, looking down and swirling the remains of his beer. Then he rose slowly. She thought he might turn to go, but he crossed and sat next to her, still silent for a moment. "We're from different worlds, you and me."

She let one corner of her lip curl up. "You have no idea."

They sat quietly for a moment. She had come into the restaurant believing she had no desire to be in anything more than a professional relationship with Gene Hunt. But then he had walked in, and she'd seen the look on his rough, handsome face, and she knew he was as damaged and lost in his own way as she was. She understood that they somehow needed each other. This wouldn't be easy, and maybe they were doomed, maybe it was a mistake, but it seemed more of a mistake not to at least try.

They sat the way the always did at this corner table, elbows on table, chin in hands, heads pressed close together.

"Shame to let that go to waste," he said finally, and nodded toward her plate of food.

"It's all yours."

He took her fork and tucked in. "Maybe we could pop upstairs later for a sweetie."

"Steady on! Again? I don't want you having a heart attack on me."

"I don't know what's going through your filthy mind, Bolly, but I was talking about pink wafers and garibaldis."

She gave him a teasing smile. "Just as well. Three times in 24 hours is a big ask for a man your age."

He looked at her with a cocked eyebrow. "_Never_ underestimate the Gene Genie."

They sat that way for a long time, talking easily and finishing off a carafe of wine, and afterwards, they walked upstairs to her flat together. As she stepped inside, he seemed to hesitate, but she took his hand and pulled him inside. She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him in for a long, slow kiss as he kicked the door shut behind them.

THE END


End file.
